


giving rise to higher fruit and view

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childbirth, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, No Sex Scenes, Slut Shaming, The Resistance is kinda mean :/, Unplanned Pregnancy, happy valentine's day here is a fic about canon pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Jedi were celibate.—and yet.[Rey of the Resistance has become pregnant. Her lips remain sealed as to who the father is.]
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62
Collections: Anonymous





	giving rise to higher fruit and view

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to upload something to help get the tag to 25K on Valentine's Day. I was planning on writing a VD themed fic, but y'know life happens. I didn't proofread so all booboos are on me.

Rumors flit around the base, unfiltered and not entirely unfounded. Of course, pregnant women are not an entirely unknown phenomenon for the people of the Resistance. Yet these women are usually pilots. Mechanics. Data technicians.

Not the last Jedi; never the young girl who was made out to be as pure as the snow that smothered every visible inch of Hoth. The Jedi were celibate.

And yet, she walks on the grounds of Ajan Kloss, belly visibly swollen and palms clutched protectively over her abdomen. Men and women alike stare openly at the white cloth that stretches over her stomach, her customary belt forgotten weeks ago once her stomach strained well beyond the point that it was no longer a question of what was happening and more of _when it was happening._

It.

As in a baby. 

Because somehow, Rey is pregnant. It’s a miracle in itself that the First Order hasn’t launched a single attack on the Resistance or any of the systems aligned with them since Rey has become incapacitated. Many within the base wonder what would occur if the Order were to become aware of the Jedi’s pregnancy. It would be unlike Kylo Ren to show any mercy.

It’s a fear that several members hold within their hearts. Spiteful and bitter, they wonder how the Jedi could have been so irresponsible to conceive a child during a war. She is their last hope and instead of training, she spends her time waddling from one corner of the base to the other, arm always thrown under her belly, supportive and defensive all at once.

Some say she’s meditating when they catch her murmuring to herself. A fool—one who is in over her head—is what the others say.

There are open debates around the camp about the identity of the father. Poe Dameron and Finn would have been the likely suspects, yet the two men have been in a relationship together for months now. 

There hasn’t been a single indication that Rey is involved with either or both of them. Of course, she is seen with them and those around the base are mindful of the way the two men stare at her, but it is never in a way that indicates something romantic or even remotely paternal. They are friendly. Brotherly. 

> _“Rey,” Leia had appeared in her bedroom one morning. “How are you?”_
> 
> _“I’m fine,” Rey said tiredly. The young woman’s eyes remained glued to the window by her cot. Beneath it, Resistance members roamed the base, stumbling into bushes while in heated embraces, entangling themselves in barely hidden alcoves._
> 
> _“You know,” Leia began, sitting beside the younger woman. She sat her palm on top of Rey’s, the texture of her hand smooth and polished compared to the roughened skin of the former scavenger’s, an untold relic of the hardships of a girl-turned-woman. “When I was pregnant with...” Leia was still looking down at their hands, and Rey turned to face the older woman. The woman was clearly struggling with how to address the situation. “...my son, I had no one to tell. Han was gone more often than not. Luke was busy trying to establish something that would never quite make up for all the absences later in life, and my mother was gone.” My planet was gone, she doesn’t say._
> 
> _Rey smiled, close-mouthed. It didn’t reach her eyes._
> 
> _“I know you don’t have a mother either, Rey. But maybe…” Leia looked up. “I can be someone for you to confide in?”_
> 
> _And Rey crumbled._

People mention the solo trips that the Jedi had been fond of taking early on in her pregnancy. They scoff now when they recall her claims of seeking artifacts sacred to the long-dead religion. It was likely that on one of these trips her child was conceived. No one comes forward as the one responsible for impregnating the girl, although none can claim that their thoughts have not wandered in that direction.

She is a desert rat. No better than the skin-girls that litter their respective home planets—perhaps that is what she had done before being drafted into the war. It’s inconceivable to them now how a slip of a girl could survive on her own through the merit of her own strength. 

It’s through her talent for warming beds that she has achieved her status. They whisper this in the halls, eyes following her form—her growing breasts, the luster of her hair, the rump she hides beneath the gauzy fabric she favors. Her stomach betrays her.

They remain ignorant of how easily she picks up these comments. To the scowls thrown their way over the shoulders of her friends. To the tear that slips from the corner of her eye traveling down the soft expanse of her cheek that slips to the sweaty skin of her neck.

A man huffs, cheeks rosy, and breaths oozing with the scent of one too many cups of dragon juice. “If I’d known the Jedi was spreadin’ ‘er legs, I-I woulda’ fffucked it into he-” His words are interrupted with several hiccups in between the slurred words, but those around him understand just fine.

Across from him, a woman chortles, dark curls plastered around her forehead from the heat of the bonfire that they’ve seated around. “That would require you to last before the fucking actually begins.”

The crowd erupts into lively laughter. The man’s entire moon-shaped head blossoms in splotchy patches of red. He spends the rest of the night tipping liquor bottles between eager lips.

No one stops to look off to the side, far too enraptured with whatever passing folly passes through their lips. A lone figure stands perched underneath the trees—the silhouette of a woman barely visible under the faint flickerings of the fire. Her whispers fall silent into the night.

The higher-ups never show for these things.

* * *

The First Order raids their base on the day that the last Jedi goes into labor.

Members and recruits had waited in bated breath for the fated day to pass, backs taut with tension as they watched her belly swell beyond imagination. Their enemies had kept their unspoken promise of truce, but they were all aware of how fragile their peaceful existence was. But as the days passed with no sign of fighting, their imaginations relaxed. They found themselves tranquil and complacent, willing to spend their time with romps in bushes and impromptu lake days instead of filling their hours with the more mundane chores of war. Their fighter ships went unfueled and rations unstocked. 

Rey of Jakku has given them an excuse for complacency and they vilify her for it.

Her screams can be heard across the lake, and it is as if the roots of the trees share her pain. The ground beneath their feet trembles with each low-pitched wail that slips from the flaps of the medical tent. Animals have burrowed in their nests and nestle with their packs in caves. 

Kalonia has become something of a permanent attachment at the young woman’s side in the past few weeks, as has Leia. It goes unsaid as to who is in the tent with Rey now.

It is mid-evening when the first inkling of what is to come is suspected. 

A low humming is heard in the distance. Easily heard between the mind-numbing silence that has plagued the day and the periodical screams that come from Kalonia’s station. Within minutes a singular tie fighter is seen streaking across the darkening night sky. A shuttle follows closely behind.

The base erupts into chaos. Their general, head medic, and single Jedi are all incapacitated while they are about to be under attack. 

Kylo Ren‘s signature ship lands eventually and they fall silent.

This is unprecedented. 

He will butcher them and their night will end in slaughter.

They will die.

Instead, he steps out of the ship--cracked mask, billowing cape, and all. He is as large as the holovids make him out to be, perhaps even more so. 

“Where is she?” He asks. For many, it is their first time hearing his voice in person. The unnatural twinge to it sends a shiver down their spines. 

No one says anything. They think he means the general. 

“The Jedi. Where is she?” His voice betrays nothing and their dread triples. Kylo Ren is a madman. Those throughout the galaxy know him as a rabid dog; a monster held loosely on a leash until the bloody demise of his master. He is a thing outside of their comprehension—a creature that haunts their nightmares.

They do not know what to expect of a man who they cannot perceive, one who now contradicts all expectations. 

Twigs snap beneath the pressure of his boots. Rey of Jakku continues to damn them all; she has sentenced them to annihilation. 

A single moan pierces the air. It comes from the tent and suddenly they know. They are aware that she has been found and some of them, though they will only feel ashamed until afterward, hope that he will kill her and her babe and spare the rest. Not out of respect for the cause, but out of their own pure desire to live to the next day. 

She can do this for them at the very least. 

The man stalks towards the direction of the scream, his gait jilted but single-minded. An unknown pull prevents them from reaching down to the blasters at their sides and shooting him in the back. This is the power of Kylo Ren.

He is undeterred. Gloved hands slip through the canvas fabric that separates the women inside the tent from the rest of the world. 

His mother is a small woman. She is much frailer than he remembers, the skin of her neck and hands exposed to his gaze and far more wrinkled than he expected. She cannot see him as his mask prevents that connection from being made, but her eyes have always betrayed the steel spine of the woman that adorns them. It is not something that he inherited.

He cannot look at her for long because his true purpose is beside her. 

Rey is within the throes of labor. His sweet, desert girl is birthing a child and he is at a loss with how to help, her body hidden beneath blankets and the soles of her feet planted firmly on the bed she lays on. Her face, crimson red and slick with sweat, is scrunched together in pain as she wails. Baby hairs cling to her forehead, and he fights the urge to gather her in his arms and push the soft strands away. To smooth the divot between her brows with his thumb and whisper soothing promises in his ear.

But they are not alone and reality has caught up to them.

He knows that the general’s eyes are on him, and yet he cannot find himself to care as he brings his fingers underneath his jaw to unhook the mask that covers him from the Jedi before him. 

It is the first time she has seen his face in such close proximity. She had last seen him at fifteen—not yet a man, but no longer a boy. He looks more like his father than he ever did as a youngling, features heavy and strong. Still, she watches as his eyes fixate on Rey, how his brow softens and his lips fall just the slightest bit open.

Leia had sensed since he had landed that he does not intend to harm the girl and her child, and yet she could not fathom why her son had picked now and here to come home to her. 

Then realization.

Her gasp falls unnoticed between Rey’s harsh pants, and suddenly she knows. The worry that emits from her son is not out of some misplaced frustration about the war. 

He is here to witness the birth of his and Rey’s child. 

Her grandchild is the one being brought forth into this world of chaos and greed.

Kalonia, the medic, steps forward with a blaster between her hands. Leia raises her hand, potent with the Force. The weapon stills. 

Solemnly, he kneels at her side. His gloved hand now covers the belly of the woman, and at last his composure crumbles. “Rey,” his voice is hoarse. “You’re not alone. You can do this.”

  
  


Sensing the gentle touch, Rey’s eyes peel open for a moment. “Ben,” the woman rasps. “You’re here-” Her words cut off as another contraction passes. “I-I can’t.”

“You can.” 

His eyes flit up to his mother, before darting to the medic standing still beside her. “What have you given her for the pain?” 

“N-Nothing. She requested that we use none.” Tentatively, Kalonia steps forward. Her eyes never leave Kylo’s even as she sets the weapon down to the floor. 

“Rey—”

“It’s true,” the Jedi pants. “The Force said it would be okay.”

Kylo grits his teeth, careful not to let any of his anger seep onto her or the baby. His girl has gone through enough. He can be strong. If it’s for her.

Kalonia settles between Rey’s legs, and she lifts the blankets to her knees. The baby must take precedence. “Alright, Rey, I think it’s time.”

Leia flitters over, mind distracted with new information, however, still determined to see this through. She pauses to look between the woman’s quivering thighs. “Rey, I can see the head.”

Looking up, she flounders at the intensity with which her son stares at his lover. He holds her hand, now gloveless, and she sees that his fingers have turned white with the amount of pressure that Rey grips it. 

“Push, Rey.” 

Rey sobs, her wails blanketing the forest. 

“Push!” 

The shoulders are now visible. Rey screams with the last of her strength, and Leia can sense that her son is propelling his own energy into her body.

Silence. Then suddenly—

A new cry pierces the air.

The baby has been born, hair black as night and sticky with blood, and the new mother smiles, tired, but already in love. Her lover steps forward to hold the child, fingers trembling.

The story begins anew.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first half of this a few months ago and never got around to finishing it until now, so if there's a drop in quality you now know why. Also, I have no idea why I used so many dashes...I guess they're just neat. 
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think in the comments!


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